Me…and You

Who are we,
really,
in this time
of lost and colliding,
this moment
of awake and distant?

Am I this version
all twisted inside
this other self,
this being
who wants freedom
yet finds such tragic comfort
in the safety of control?

Pieces of me fall away,
drift out and crash
only for my fingers to fumble
as I stick them back to places
they don’t belong

while you watch and wait
for me to crack a little more,
to slide out from those faces
and bear my body
as if it were yours,
as if it were beauty
when it only represents

your power
caught up with
my weakness.

And yet,

I want it back,
your voice
echoing,
guiding,
focusing
my chaos,
charging my skin
with the perfect particles
of madness,
of abnormality,
of freedom
twined with chains.

But I want more.

I want your body to vibrate
from my submission,
to feed from it,
to need me kneeling before you
because you can’t truly live without it.

I need to be yours,
but I don’t think
you need me to be yours.

Or maybe you do.
Maybe you adore me more
each time you wrap your fingers
around my neck,
each time you exert your commands,
the power only you yield.

Maybe you find yourself needing me
to submit
as much as you need to command.

~Patience

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